


Cuts, Bruises, and Complications

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Adorkable, Bruises, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 11, Shirtless, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 07:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16363526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: When Watts appears to be targeted for assassination yet again, George finds himself alone with a shirtless Watts, a jar of unguent for the bruises, and a lot of feelings.





	Cuts, Bruises, and Complications

"What have you got there?" George asked, trying to peer inside as Watts opened the box sitting on his desk.

"It appears to be a cake," Watts said. "There's a note; With Thanks."

Murdoch joined them, newspaper in hand, whatever he'd been about to say forgotten when he laid eyes on the box.

"Where did that come from?"

"I don't know. The note is unsigned."

"You shouldn't eat that," Murdoch said. "It could be poisoned. Honestly, Watts, first that wine that could have been laced with arsenic, then that hotdog that was sprinkled with strychnine and now cake that someone has left on your desk! Are you determined to poison yourself?"

Watts gave Murdoch a faintly offended look. "I'm sure it's not poisoned."

*

"It's definitely poisoned," Violet said cheerfully, dropping the paperwork onto the desk. "Full of cyanide."

"Oh. It looked so tasty," Watts said with regret. "You were right, Murdoch."

"I take no pleasure in it," Murdoch said. "Thank you, Miss Hart."

She nodded and left, George rubbing at his chin as he considered the possibilities.

"You need to make a list of anyone who might want to see you dead," Murdoch said.

Watts sighed. "There are people I've arrested who were guilty, those I questioned who were innocent but took offence at my investigations, the families of those I've arrested, people I've worked with who have took a dislike to me, people I've met..."

Murdoch held up a hand. "You must try to narrow it down," he said.

"Sir," George said. "The note wasn't addressed to Detective Watts, though the cake was left on his desk. Are we certain he was the intended victim?"

"You raise a good point," Murdoch said. "But until we know more we must assume that Detective Watts is the intended target."

*

Murdoch insisted George accompany Watts to lunch ("Try to make sure he doesn't get himself killed.") and George hadn't minded in the least.

On the way back to the station house, Watts and George were talking about the merits and drawbacks of the printing press, the subject having arisen since Murdoch was looking at the typewritten note from the cyanide cake in an attempt to discover anything that might give them a lead on a suspect.

"We all have enemies. It is the nature of the job," Watts said. "But as you said, it is not yet proven I was the intended target."

George nodded but he had his eye on a man approaching them; flat cap, bushy beard, head down. Something about him was making George's senses tingle.

As he got close the man seemed to stumble into Watt's path, and there was the flash of a blade. George shoved Watts to one side, trying to grab for the assailant. There was a struggle, George felt blood trickling down his fingers, and then the man ran, straight into the path of a carriage which had no chance to stop.

"Sir?" George tore his eyes from the carnage. "Are you all right?"

Watts, lying in the gutter, blinked a few times. "I suppose that proves I have been targeted," he said.

*

The attacker was sent to autopsy. Murdoch and Henry began poring over his clothes and effects in an attempt to identity him.

The wound George had received from the knife was a superficial cut below his left thumb. Dr Ogden had cleaned it with iodine and bandaged it for him.

Watts was mostly bruised from his fall, though the cut in his shirt and the scratch on the skin below his ribs spoke of what would have been a far more serious injury had George not shoved him aside.

Murdoch sent Watts home, where Watts could make his list in safety, and insisted George should go too and guard the door. Watts had protested but Murdoch said two attempts on his life in one day were more than enough, and that he was sure Dr Ogden agreed that after a traumatic event getting some rest would be beneficial.

Dr Ogden had humoured Murdoch. "I'm sure I might but I'm also sure no detective listens to such advice," she said. "Nonetheless, I do suggest you take some time to recover. Here's some salve for the bruising. Rub it in well and after a few hours sleep you'll be right as rain."

George was surprised when Watts agreed to do as Murdoch said, though he was happy to escort Watts back to the room he rented.

"Come in," Watts said, when George hesitated at the doorway. "Perhaps you should check for further assailants hidden in a cupboard. Besides, I don't think Mrs Landry would like you standing about in the hallway."

Mrs Landry was probably glad of a tenant who was a police detective, for they tended to pay their rent on time and not make too much fuss – and a word to their superior would put things right if this were not the case. However the downside was that sometimes, as now the job followed them home.

George followed him into the room, unexpectedly excited at seeing inside the room. It was comparable to George's own, though more cluttered with books and papers.

"It's a little untidy," Watts said, which probably passed as the socially required apology for the mess. "I don't often entertain company."

"It's fine," George assured him.

"Can I get you a drink?" Watts asked, hanging up his coat and sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Not while I'm on duty."

"Mrs Landry allows us to make tea in the kitchen," Watts said. "So long as we clean up after ourselves."

"Perhaps later." George wandered around the room, making a show of checking the window and any potential hiding spots. He was doing his duty as an observant police officer, while also nosing around a little. Like Murdoch, Watts was a man of many interests as evidenced by the books, newspapers, and various trinkets. Unlike Murdoch, Watts was not as neat, though also unlike Murdoch he kept a decent supply of wines and liquor.

Seeing George's gaze rest on the wine rack in one corner of the room, Watts took the opportunity to talk about the various bottles. George listened, nodding, but kept being distracted by Watts' closeness to him. Being in his home was a new intimacy and it was stirring up feelings George was only now becoming fully aware of.

Watts stopped talking, possibly because George had been staring at his eyes and not speaking, lost in thought. "I'm boring you. Sorry, I just get caught up sometimes."

"You weren't boring me," George said. "I like hearing you talk. It's nice when someone shares their passions with you."

Watts looked momentarily flustered and then moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He rolled his shoulders and winced.

"Do you want to get some sleep?" George asked. "I can go and sit in the kitchen so I'm nearby but not lurking in the hallway." Maybe he could get some tea from Mrs Landry, possibly even cake if she liked the constabulary. George could often charm motherly or even not-so-motherly women into providing refreshments.

"No. I'm not tired, just a little sore. Would you help me apply the salve Dr Ogden gave me?" Watts gestured to his side. "I'm not sure I can reach all of the bruising."

"Of course." George turned away as Watts began to undo his shirt. This was ridiculous for several reasons, the first being that George would have to look at a disrobed Watts unless he wanted to try and apply the ointment with his eyes shut (not the best idea). He'd seen Watts's chest when Dr Ogden was examining him earlier at the station house too. And while he might have rationalised his actions as giving Watts some privacy during the actual removal of the clothing because they were now in his home, it was of no use, for George found himself facing a mirror and seeing the reflected Watts removing his shirt.

"George?"

George swallowed. He turned to face Watts, keeping his eyes on the man's face. "Sorry."

"For what?" Watts held up the jar. "You were going to assist me?"

George nodded. He took off his own jacket, not wanting to get the greasy and odd-smelling concoction on his uniform, and rolled up his sleeves. "I'll try and be gentle," he said, knowing it would hurt to rub at the bruises.

"I'm sure you will." Watts gave him a smile and adjusted his position on the bed, making sure George could reach the injuries.

For a few moments there was silence as George took up a blob of the ointment on his fingers and started at the safest place, Watts' shoulder. The smell faded quickly as the ointment soaked into the skin and the lingering scent wasn't unpleasant. Watts closed his eyes as George worked, occasionally taking a sharp breath but otherwise silent and still.

In fact as time passed and George found himself applying a little more ointment that necessary to cover more of the skin, and in places Watts could reach for himself, Watts became relaxed. This further emboldened George as he worked his way down over Watt's side, rubbing a little further over the torso than was necessary, and it was only when he reached the waistband of Watts' trousers that he stopped with reluctance.

Watts opened his eyes. George rubbed his hands together, getting rid of the last of the ointment.

"I think I have some bruises on my thigh," Watts said and it was impossible to discern his tone.

"You can probably reach those yourself," George offered, unwilling to overstep.

"Quite."

Yet Watts made no move to put his shirt back on. George crouched down and used his finger and thumb to pull at the skin either side of the scratch below Watts' ribs.

"It was a close thing," Watts said.

"Yes." George straightened up. Watts took George's left hand, placed his fingers gently on the bandage.

"You probably saved my life."

George wanted to say something like "It was nothing," but instead he said, "I'm glad I did."

And then George's lips were on Watts' and one of Watts' hands was in George's hair and the other at his back.

George drew back and they stared at each other. There was no sound except the ticking of an antique clock on the mantelpiece.

"Well," Watts said, with a hint of surprise.

"I'm sorry, sir," George said, feeling his face flush, cheeks aflame. He turned to go, but Watts caught at his sleeve.

"George. Don't leave. We need to talk about this."

Unable to meet Watts' eyes, George shook his head. "I shouldn't have done that, sir."

"First thing, stop calling me sir." Watts stood and gazed at George with what looked like affection. "Please. We're not on duty."

"I am, actually."

Watts waved one hand dismissively. "George. I get to call you that. But I'm Watts to most, sir to the constables. I rarely even hear my given name."

George swallowed. "Llewellyn," he offered softly.

A smile spread across Watts' face. "Yes."

"Then I'm sorry, Llewellyn," George said.

The smile vanished. "I'm not sorry that I was kissing you at least as much as you were kissing me."

George tipped his head. He'd been afraid that Watts hadn't been reciprocating except in his imagination. "Truly?"

"Truly. In fact I was rather hoping there might be another kiss." Watts shrugged, picked up his shirt and began doing up the buttons, missing out a buttonhole as he did.

"Oh. Well. Llewellyn," George said, still trying the unfamiliar moniker out, "in that case I'd like to do it again."

Watts nodded, shirt in disarray. "You're not just saying that to placate me? As your work superior?"

"No!"

"That's a relief." Watts frowned as he gestured to his shirt. I seem to have become muddled."

"Allow me?"

Watts nodded and George bent down, unbuttoning the shirt. He began at the bottom so as not to miss a buttonhole as Watts had, and fastened up the shirt with care, smoothing down the material as he went.

"All done," George said, running his fingers over the shirt collar.

"Thank you."

There was an awkward silence. Watts sat back down on the bed. He patted the covers next to him and George joined him.

"This does complicate matters," Watts said. "But I've never been one to adjust my life for the sake of simplicity nor in regard to other people's opinions."

That was true. George rather envied Watts' ability to be untouched by people's attitudes to his sometimes odd or erratic behaviour. Watts was who he was, and people had to accept him or not. He would not change for them.

There were many things to consider, so many that it was overwhelming, so George closed his eyes and focussed on the key issue. Did he feel strongly enough about Llewellyn Watts to face all those things, to complicate his life by acknowledging and pursuing those feelings?

Yes. The answer came immediately and without a doubt.

George took Watts' hand. "I think we need to take things slowly. There's a lot to think about."

"Indeed."

"No-one else can know, not yet."

"Agreed."

George sighed. "And I think our main concern should be finding out who is trying to kill you. I don't want to fall utterly in love with you and then lose you."

He was half-joking to lighten the mood, half-serious. Watts gave a wry smile.

"I'm sure Detective Murdoch will find the culprit before long. He has an impressive record of arresting suspects in – what, a week or less? We shall wait for him to do his duty, for you make a good point. After that, however…."

George nodded. "Then I'll be off duty and we'll drink some of that wine. I'll cook us a meal. And we'll have a serious talk about whatever this is."

"That sounds like a fine plan."

George squeezed at his hand. "I'm going to see if Mrs Landry will make us some tea," he said.

He beamed all the way to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> For whumptober 2018, #10 bruises, and my wildcard hurt/comfort bingo round 9 square, "bruises"  
> [rebloggable Tumblr promo post](https://meridianrosewrites.tumblr.com/post/179275046742/cuts-bruises-and-complications-meridianrose)


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